CD1

AF has arrived early for what I honestly think may be the first time ever. I've never had a 26-day cycle before. Should I be worried? If BBT is an accurate measure, I ovulated on CD13, so the luteal phase was 13 days, which seems okay.

I guess this explains my paranoia leading into my annual review yesterday.

I can't even describe the slowness with which the first month post-miscarriage seemed to pass. The second month flew by -- it feels like yesterday that I got my period again.

Well, it's CD1. Let the fun begin.

In the end: September/October, loss

The D&E itself wasn't that eventful. I was ordered not to drink or eat after midnight and to report at 11 (I think). I got there and was shuffled around from room to room while they looked for somewhere to do the paperwork. Of course, when we went through the name part, the nurse commented on our uncommon last name, and, as usual, it turned out she knew Ps mom -- in fact, Ps mom had had that same job before her. Fantastic. We were eventually moved to another room and introduced to another nurse and the anesthesiologist, neither of whom knew my MIL, thankfully.

I couldn't stop crying. The nurse asked why I was crying, was I in pain? The question seemed absurd to me -- why the hell do you think I'm crying? You're doping me up because my baby died but won't leave so you need to suction it out of me. Wouldn't you cry? I mumbled something about being sad.

The doctor wasn't someone I had met before. He seemed callous to me, talking at micromachine man speed with what seemed to be a smirk on his face though I'm sure I was just being overly sensitive. I realize he does tons of these (200 a year, he said -- and only 3% have complications, he said, though neither fact was much comfort to me), so it may be easier for him if he distances himself from the emotional pain of it, but it's not a situation I find myself in every day, and I could use a bit more gentleness as far as bedside manner is concerned.

Once they concluded that I was sufficiently hydrated and sufficiently drugged, they had me wheel myself into the procedure room. Another girl wheeled past me, and I recognized the expression on her face -- vacant, worn and spent, raw, red and pasty. I wanted to say something to her but there really isn't anything to say that can't be conveyed without words.

I was conscious throughout the procedure but don't remember much. P said I babbled a bit. I remember when it was over, before I went into the recovery room, telling P I wanted a tattoo of Roo with angel wings and the EDD. It now seems rather ridiculous.

In the recovery room, I ate peanut butter crackers and drank juice. I felt extremely hungry and extremely empty. When we left, I closed my eyes, scared we would see pregnant people coming out of the Obstetrics ward, placed, of course, right next to Surgical Procedures. Totally awesome. We stopped for ice cream on the way home, and I got my favorite sundae (chocolate ice cream, peanut butter sauce, whipped cream and nuts). P had to go back to work that afternoon. So I made a grilled cheese and sat on the couch, mindlessly watching tv.

And sometimes I feel like that's where I've been ever since. I go to work, I go to church, I see friends, I even went to a Pats game, but a part of me seems always to be on that couch, staring blankly at the tv. Thankfully, I think I am snapping out of it.

In the middle: September, limbo

On August 29, we went in for our first appointment with the midwife (our practice has you alternate appts between the doctor and the midwife for a number of months before choosing; even though we knew the doctor, we started with the midwife). She took a history, did a pelvic, etc. We talked about proper diet, exercise, and finally my discomfort with the fact that I was losing symptoms. She offered to do an ultrasound using the portable machine in the office -- "just to give you peace of mind" -- but was sure to note repeatedly that the machine was somewhat low quality and she wasn't great at using it. She initially went for the transabdominal, but concluded she would be able to see better vaginally, as my uterus was tipped. I didn't really care -- I was just waiting for that peace of mind.

When looking transvaginally, she seemed concerned, but I had no idea what to be looking for to guess at the cause of concern. She asked me again how far along I was. Those who have been through this before know that is never a good question to hear when you have that wand all up in your business. I should have been 7.5 weeks, but she said she could only see a sac, and it was measuring at 6.5 weeks. She said she was worried, but again noted the low quality of the machine and her lack of expertise and told us she was going to call the radiologist and see if they could see us right away. I sat there and bawled. P just held me. Eventually the midwife came back, telling us to head to the radiologist across town, but to stop on the way out to have the bloodwork done that we had discussed when we still thought I was pregnant, "but we'll cancel some of the screenings, since we don't think there's a viable pregnancy anymore. At least you know you can get pregnant." Bitch.

As I quickly realized was going to be a common occurrence in this world, when we got checked in at the radiology lab, the woman behind the desk commented on my last name, asked if I was related to my mother in law. They used to work together in labor and delivery. Awesome. I had to tell her not to say anything, since my MIL doesn't know anything -- that we were trying, were successful, or were potentially having a miscarriage. Oh.

The waiting room was full of pregnant people, and I found myself extremely resentful, passing judgment on all of them -- they looked too young, too clueless, too anything to get to be pregnant when I might not. I was glad they called us back quickly before I lost it. The tech again started with an abdominal ultrasound but quickly switched to the vaginal. I still didn't really know what to look for, but knew I saw something that looked like a rice krispie with a white flicker. The tech said absolutely nothing. After a while of manipulating the wand, changing the area of focus, blowing the view up, and doing it all again, she said she was going to get the doctor, which is also always a bad sign. But I knew I had seen that flicker.

The doctor came in and we went through the same routine again -- manipulate, center, zoom, repeat. Finally he said, "well, that there is the sac, that is the baby, and that is the heartbeat." The expression on his face, though, made clear that he still had bad news to come. "The heartbeat is irregular. Watch." We saw it beat steadily for a few seconds, then seem to stop, then beat steadily again. I kept thinking, maybe it's just the angle, or something is in the way, or maybe he just sucks at his job -- how the hell does he know? "The heart also seems to be in the wrong place, but anatomy at this stage can be tough to see and interpret." And, it was measuring small -- 6.5 weeks instead of 7.5.

Our rice krispie was small but alive, but, he told us, there was very little chance that this would be a viable pregnancy and, even if it was, there was a good chance the baby would have severe medical problems. He said we should pray for the best but prepare for the worst. We would continue to monitor the situation, but we should expect to miscarry in the next week or so and should come back in a week or ten days for a follow up if it hadn't happened. The doctor kept touching my arm, trying to be caring and empathetic, but it was creepy -- he still had his hand on the fricking wand, still inside me. I couldn't cry in front of him.

P and I were supposed to be leaving on vacation two days later. The u/s doc thought we should go anyway, if we thought it would help and were feeling up to it. Whatever was going to happen was going to happen, and it would be depressing to waste a vacation sitting home waiting to miscarry. The midwife thought we should cancel. She seemed certain that I would need to go to the hospital in the coming days, and I didn't know where the nearest hospital was in relation to our destination (our cottage in Ontario). She thought it was too secluded, too remote, and we should postpone. The whole thought was incredibly depressing, and I wasn't sure how much fun vacation was going to be, but really couldn't handle the thought of cancelling for the exact reason the u/s doc said -- a vacation wasted waiting for death was too crappy to imagine.

On Friday morning, P and I got in the car with the dog to make the ten hour drive to the cottage. Per the midwife's orders, before we left we went online to research hospitals in the area and called to confirm that they had an emergency obstetrics unit. We were sure to drive by the closest one on the way up. Every twinge I felt I was sure was a cramp and marked the beginning of the end. Every time I went to the bathroom, I was sure I would look down and see that telltale smear of blood on the tissue. I had a meltdown at the beer store on our first full day -- all of a sudden, I was struck by the absurdity of me, standing there while P picked out beer for himself, not drinking because I was still pregnant, even though I was waiting to miscarry our dying baby. I prayed a lot that week, not that God would save the baby but that He would give me the strength to deal with the loss. I wanted to feel hopeful but felt extraordinarily defeated. As I feared, it was tough to enjoy being there.

But I read a lot, sat out on the dock, went swimming, went for walks. And, as the week went on, I started to have a little hope, a recurring daydreamy fantasy that the doctor was wrong, that the baby was fine. Maybe we were that small percentage with whom he sees what he saw but who go on to have viable pregnancies, ideally without severe medical issues. He had said to expect to miscarry within the week, but nothing was happening. Though the weather outside got stormy, hope began to slowly emerge in me, like the sun burning away a thick fog.


We got home on Sunday the 9th and had the follow-up ultrasound appointment the next day. We had a different doctor, different from the one we had the first time and in a different room with a different tech, and again with the LMP question over and over. And again with the abdominal and the switch to the vaginal. This time, right away I knew it wasn't good. The sac looked bigger but the rice krispie didn't, and the flicker was gone. This doctor was all business and bluntly delivered the news that there was no heartbeat and that, while the sac was the right size, the baby was still too small; while it had grown, it hadn't grown enough. I am sure he said other things, but I don't really remember them. I just remember bawling, trying to cover my face, wishing I could sink into the chair and just disappear.


I was supposed to be going to a friend's baby shower in the office that afternoon but didn't really think that was the best idea, so I went home. I think I cycled through all the stages of grief simultaneously over and over in the car on the way home, with a lot of time spent then and in the coming weeks vascillating between extreme anger and sadness, often colliding and leaving me extraordinarily bitter. When we got home, I informed the dog he was going to be an only child for a while longer. I cried a lot while P and I sat staring vacantly at the TV.

My doctor called that evening. I found the call very comforting -- unlike the midwife, who seemed to begin every sentence with "at least," the doctor seemed to recognize that wasn't what I wanted to hear. We talked about grief and we discussed the options -- wait and hope to miscarry naturally, go the medical route, taking medication and hoping it induces a miscarriage, or go the surgical route. She took the time to explain them to me and didn't push too hard for any one choice, giving pros and cons of each and asking me to call when we had decided what we wanted to do.


I did some research online and decided on the surgical route but I couldn't bring myself to call her to tell her. I must have been in the denial stage of grief at that point, because I kept convincing myself that if I waited a miracle would happen. No miracle happened. We met with the doctor in person on Wednesday and scheduled the D&E for Friday, September 14.

In the beginning: August, pregnancy

I had an appointment with my PCP on August 6, so I asked her to confirm the pregnancy. I'm not sure why, but I thought they'd do a blood test; they did a pee test instead, which didn't feel that different from what I could do (and had done) myself at home, though it did serve as a marginally official confirmation. I was in a great mood at work that day, even though I was finalizing our final pre-trial submissions for the case heading for trial. That afternoon, the case settled, so I wouldn't have to spent the first month of known pregnancy sweating it up in New York in August, going back and forth between a hotel room and the courtroom. It was shaping up to be one of those days, one of those days that sticks with you because everything seems to go right, the opposite of Alexander's terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

I spent a lot of time over the next few weeks avoiding work, hoping nobody would come into my office and see me perusing the iVillage pregnancy message boards or ordering pregnancy books off Amazon or researching various pregnancy-related things (half the items in my google search cache in August began with "pregnancy and"). My pregnancy symptoms were relatively mild. My boobs were very sore and my bras were too tight. I developed pimples in the chest/collarbone area. I was so tired I couldn't keep my head up most of the time -- I fell asleep on the couch more than once. I have always been a big water drinker and therefore have always peed often, but this was rough even for me.

The most curious thing was the mood shift. I like to think I hide it well from most people, but I generally tend toward the anxious and irritable. I get grouchy quickly and can overreact to minor setbacks. I am constantly annoyed. But I didn't and I wasn't. Instead, I felt a mild sense of elation at all times. I had heard of people experiencing the glow of pregnancy, but it had never occurred to me that it might emanate from the inside, reflecting an actual change in one's internal self rather than just joy in the fact of pregnancy (or perhaps that this joy could have such a transformative power). I honestly don't know how to adequately describe this change in myself and suspect I'm doing a poor job here, but I loved it.

Those few weeks were tremendous. P and I spent a lot of time trying to come up with something to call the baby while it was in utero but never really decided on anything. We had decided not to tell anyone, as telling anyone at all would obligate us to tell family, which would obligate us to tell my mother, which was definitely to be avoided. (This made choosing an OB challenging, which was an issue we hadn't really thought about. People typically ask people they know for recommendations, and we had planned to ask Ps mom (she was a labor and delivery nurse), but it's tough to do that when you aren't telling anyone.*) We were both so excited, so the urge to tell was overwhelming. I had always mocked people I knew who told the world super early on, thinking they were tempting the miscarriage gods, but I now understood the impulse.** We finally agreed that after our first ultrasound, which we assumed would happen around 9-10 weeks, we would each be allowed to tell one person, but it had to be someone who wouldn't tell anyone else. After my brother's wedding on Columbus Day, by which time I'd be 13.5 weeks, we would tell the rest of the world.

On Wednesday the 22nd (at about 6.5 weeks), I started having stomach cramps. I don't mean abdominal or pelvic cramps or anything even vaguely menstrual-esque in nature -- these were knotty stomach cramps, like when you have food poisoning and feel that wrenching through your gut that lets you know your gut is pissed at you for putting something awful in it. But I didn't throw up, and I didn't expel anything from the other end either. I tried to find information online about stomach cramps and pregnancy, but the only info I could find was about abdominal/uterine cramps that people were describing as stomach cramps or stomach cramps that were accompanied by an expulsion of something from the body. The cramps lasted throughout the afternoon and early evening, but they weren't frequent, there was no bleeding, and they stopped before I went to bed. Looking back, that's right around when something seems to have gone wrong, but I didn't know it at the time.

I woke up the following Monday and realized I had had trouble sleeping the night before -- I had gone to bed early, but I hadn't felt that tired. My boobs seemed less sore. And I felt, well, annoyed with anything and everything that I encountered. I decided not to read anything into it (opted to live in denial?), but I did finally get around to calling my insurance company to figure out exactly what they covered pregnancy-wise, as was recommended by some book or pregnancy journal or message board poster. The insurance manual just said that pregnancy was covered in full with no copay for routine maternal care visits. I had no idea what this meant -- what exactly is routine? Would that cover everything I could possibly need?

I am somewhat embarassed to admit it, but when the customer service rep said that my insurance would only cover one ultrasound during a pregnancy, usually between 16 and 20 weeks, I, well, freaked out. Looking back, though I didn't entirely realize it at the time, something was gnawing at my subconscious, something that made me feel ill at ease. I was already trying not to panic over the fading symptoms issue, and this news just set the panic free. Somehow I thought pregnant people had ultrasounds with some regularity. What if something went wrong? How would I know? She explained that if there was "a medical necessity," they would cover additional ultrasounds; she could not, however, provide me with any further information as to what would constitute such a medical necessity. It was an incredibly unproductive, incredibly circular conversation. My level of hysteria on that call was at a level pregnant-me had not previously experienced.

Over the next few hours, the panic subsided, but the grawing ill-at-ease sensation continued. That said, I wasn't cramping or bleeding or anything else that would give a legitimate reason to worry. Plus, there really was nothing I could do but wait for my first appointment, scheduled for two days later. So I waited.

* As for how we chose someone, we knew where we wanted to deliver (the hospital where Ps mom works, as we knew we'd be well taken care of), so I made a list of every female doctor who delivered there (definitely preferred to have a woman doing all that observing of my nether regions). I then eliminated anyone who wasn't board certified or who seemed likely to retire before we'd be done having kids. Finally, I circled anyone whose office was walkable from mine (i.e. within 2 miles). When I looked over the circled names, one jumped out. I was sure I knew her. It turns out, she is a friend of my MIL; in fact, she was a guest at our wedding -- I even had pictures of her talking to my dad. So we chose her.

** The fucking irony of it, of course, is that none of them miscarried. I didn't tell, but I did. Apparently, the miscarriage gods cannot be tempted -- they hate you and want to punish you or they don't.

In the beginning: July, TTC

My period started July 8, which I only know because of the number of times I was later asked the LMP question, including three times in the same office on the day we went in to find out for sure the baby had died -- you'd think they could keep track of such things. We joined my family on their vacation the following weekend (I couldn't take any more time off) and had our first condom-free sex since I went off the Pill in a king bed that was really 2 twins pushed together. It felt very illicit. And rather terrifying. It was one thing to talk about being ready and another thing to take actual action.

We figured if we had sex every day for at least ten days, we at least wouldn't miss the egg completely. If a few months went by with no pregnancy, we'd try to figure out the whole charting thing. We missed two nights, I think, out of the next fourteen. I was working late almost every night, but made it a point to always be home before P went to bed, even if I would have to go downstairs and do more work afterwards. We had a couple of quickies on nights we were both too tired for anything better, but I was at work until 5 or 6 am one of the two nights and we were both too exhausted even for a quickie on another. We figured we had maximized our chances.

I had a huge case heading for trial, which thankfully kept me from obsessing too much during the 2ww. I was on conference calls, writing jury instructions, and preparing our final pre-trial submission rather than making lists of real and imaginary pregnancy symptoms. That time actually passed surprisingly quickly, aided by the exhaustion that came from the rabid babymaking. A couple of days before my period was due, I started burping -- constantly. For some reason, I took that as a sign and decided I was pregnant.

I had an appointment with my PCP for my annual on Monday the 6th, which was going to be CD30, and maybe 15dpo, so my plan was to wait until then to find out if we had been successful. P had other plans, though, and bought two of the expensive digital early response tests, and I couldn't hold out. On the 4th, I peed on one of the sticks while P waited outside the door. In well under a minute, it said PREGNANT. I wish I had taken a picture, because sometimes it doesn't even seem real anymore, almost like I was never pregnant at all.

In the beginning: pre-July, pre-TTC

We decided a long time ago that we would start TTC in July 2007. My brother got married in October. If we started any sooner and were successful, we would have to tell people before the wedding. My brother (and my now-sister-in-law) deserved to be the center of attention (and definitely expected to be -- they were upset when other people in our family and group of friends planned 2007 weddings after theirs was scheduled, as 2007 was "supposed to be their year"). The concern was my mother.

See, my mother enjoys being the center of attention (she seems to take a perverse pleasure in being the bearer of news, good or bad -- after numerous calls notifying me of the terminal illness or death of a family member, said in such a way as to convey her clearly-covet-worthy-in-her-eyes "in the know" status, I have come to dread seeing her name on the caller ID). We feared that if she knew she was going to be a grandma, THE BABY would be the story for October rather than THE WEDDING. The last thing I wanted was to have her take the mic during the toasts and make some major drunken proclamation to the crowd. Waiting until July seemed like it would allow us to delay telling anyone and avoid any such scenarios.

The last few cycles leading up to July seemed to drag on. I was incredibly busy at work, working 12-18 hours a day, seven days a week, including holidays. Each time my period came, I would note how many periods remained until we would try. Clearly, these were exciting times in my life.

Church ran long today. Because it was the first Sunday after All Saints Day, the minister did a musical sermon, discussing the origins and history of jazz. Our interim minister has to be in his late seventies, but he played the sax, with the deacon on drums and the music director on piano. It was fun.

There were three (infant) baptisms today. I'm really looking forward to the baptism(s) of my own future child(ren). All through the service though, I kept wondering how P, my atheist husband would feel about it -- even though he has agreed to have any kids baptized, I know he isn't going to go along with the "repeat after me," reaffirming your own baptism part. There's a bridge I'll wait to cross until I come to it.

If or when

The last time I saw my mother in law -- a couple of weeks ago -- she had come over to our house to drop off stuff. P later told me that he had recently told her he didn't want her bringing things over, that he was sure she was going to punt the responsibility for making the hard decisions regarding Ps late father's stuff. My FIL passed away three years ago, and the basement was still full of his stuff. My MIL remarried this fall, and she decided it was time to start cleaning the house up, making space for her new life. P sensed that she was going to clean out the basement by bringing everything here -- that way, P would have to make the decision to throw things out instead of her. Of course, when she called me while P was at work on a Saturday morning, I didn't think much of it. I suggested it might be better to wait a couple of hours until P got home, but she said she had to come right then. Evidently, I got played.

When we were done unloading the contents of her SUV into my basement, we made a little small talk. She let me know that this was just the first load. If P and I ever had kids, she had boxes and boxes of things for us that she had kept from Ps childhood -- little pants, little shoes, and little coats with Ps name on them. I waited until she left to cry.

She doesn't know about our miscarriage. She was a labor and delivery nurse for much of her career and worked in the surgical procedures unit where we had the D&E before that.* She knows how common it is for things to go wrong, that wanting kids does not always lead directly to having kids. But the word if still startled me. I hope it's a when not an if.

* Our last name isn't common. It turned out every person we met during this whole process knew her -- our OB is a friend of hers, the receptionist at the radiology lab had worked with her, the nurse at the surgical procedures unit commented that she had taken the job when my MIL left. We kept having to tell people not to mention they had seen us to her. Still didn't stop our OB from telling us to pass her congrats along at the wedding. We had to remind her that we would then have to explain where and how we saw her.

Financial Recycling

This is a bit out of left field, but, since I first heard someone speak about it years ago when I was in college, I have been fascinated by the idea of microcredit, primarily by the idea of Grameencredit-type microcredit. Somehow it never occurred to me that I could become a microlender myself, that is until I saw this post in my IRL friend's blog.

There is a lot of info about microcredit available online, but the short of it is that microcredit provides a way for those who need a small-scale loan but might not be able to get one to get one. Those in need apply, and those who can fund it fund it. In its most traditional form, microcredit comes from moneylenders, pawnbrokers, personal loans, etc., and can be used to finance anything the borrower wants to buy. In the form I find appealing, microcredit is financed by community development banks (e.g. Grameen Bank), by non-profit foundations (e.g. Accion), and by individuals, often with the aid of non-profits (e.g. Kiva, which serves as a hub to introduce microlenders in the developing world to those with funds to lend), and is used to finance economic growth. Loans are made to the poor in developing nations, generally to provide capital to fund a business to help it to develop -- for example, allowing a dairy farmer to purchase another cow, a shop-owner to acquire additional merchandise, or a dress-maker to buy more cloth. As the business expands, the business owner pays back the loan. When the loan is repaid, the borrower is eligible for a new loan.

As has been said (and oft debated) before, it often takes money* to make money, which means many people around the world have no ability to make a sustainable subsistence income. I have some money I can spare, but not really enough to make a difference in my own standard of living or that of anyone else I know. So, today I made my first two loans -- one to an auto repair shop in Togo, the other to a dairy farmer in Azerbaijan. Such loans are neither charitable donations (since, if all goes as planned and the borrowers are able to expand their businesses successfully with the help of the loan, I'll be repaid), nor investments (since as a lender you receive no interest). The risk to me is low -- 96+% of loans through Kiva's field partners are repaid on time according to their repayment schedule. If/when the loan is paid back, I can reinvest the money in one or more additional businesses. It's like financial recycling, and I do like recycling. Plus, it's a little kick on the positive side of karma.

* or an economy in which there are enough jobs paying a living wage to accommodate all who are willing and able to work one

Trick or Treat

I love Halloween. As a kid, I mainly loved the candy. As an adult, I love seeing the little kids in their costumes. Our two year old neighbor was a pumpkin and seemed confused by the whole concept. Our three year old neighbor was Snow White and was spouting lines from the movie (according to her mom, earlier in the day she reenacted an entire scene by herself). We also had a Paris Hilton, a Beyonce, a princess, a flapper, a baby, and a couple of unidentifiable animals, among others. There are very few boys in our neighborhood (people have joked that there's something in the water) -- I actually think we only had one boy trick-or-treater, who was dressed as a sheriff from the wild west, and I didn't recognize him as a neighborhood kid. I usually wear a costume to hand out candy but skipped it this year. We also normally do a couple of jack-o-lanterns but didn't do that either.

P also really gets into it. For the past couple of years, he has set up a fake graveyard in front of the house and covered the front porch in cobwebs. He hangs a fake bloody arm out of the mail slot (which I jiggled when two of our six year old neighbors were on their way up the porch -- one seemed startled, the other not so much so, but I heard them ask another girl after she got candy later in the evening whether the arm moved when she was there :) P also plays creepy Halloween music very loudly (he sets speakers up on the porch so you can hear from down the street). Evidently this was too much for some of the smallest kids, as P saw one family approach the porch, hear the music (or see the arm), and turn around and walk away.

Halloween is definitely something I am looking forward to enjoying with our future kids, whenever they may come. There's just something about the unadultered joy in a kid's eyes when they shovel fistfuls of candy into a plastic pumpkin, a grocery bag, or, if they follow my parents' tradition, a pillowcase. I had been feeling pretty emotionally wretched for the past few days, but am definitely feeling a bit of a renewed sense of purpose today. I am starting to feel more positive, which makes it easier to look forward to trying again.